


A Nightingale Sang

by rightonmybins



Series: The Real Househusbands of Baker Street [15]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dance With Me, Domestic Life at 221B Baker Street, Fluff and Humor, Heartbreakingly romantic, M/M, Musical argy-bargy, Our Song, Romance, Romantic John, Romantic Sherlock, Unabashed sentiment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-17
Updated: 2018-02-17
Packaged: 2019-03-20 05:13:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13710570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rightonmybins/pseuds/rightonmybins
Summary: Sherlock and John are invited to a wedding and argue about dancing to “their song” because they can’t agree on what their song actually IS.There is so much more to dancing than not stepping on the other’s feet.





	A Nightingale Sang

“Sherlock, about this wedding invitation…”  
“Not going. Send my regrets and something suitable from Conran’s,” Sherlock said from the depths of the sofa.  
“Well, NOW why are you balking?”  
“John, I see no reason to stir from my own comfortable hearth for anything less than a double homicide with extraordinary circumstances. Certainly not for the dubious privilege of attending some pompous aristo mating rite in Brompton Oratory.”  
“There’ll be dancing after…”  
“Oh. Well then.”  
“We’ve been asked to specify ‘our song’ for the DJ to play at the reception.”  
“John, we don’t have a song.”

“We most certainly have a song!” John insisted.  
“What is it.”  
“It’s, uh…you know, that song…”  
“What. Is. It.”  
“Er…”  
“John, Bach’s Violin Sonata No. 1 is not dance music.”

“So why don’t we have a song?” John asked while they were doing the dishes after tea.  
“John, we have never had any kind of special song, soundtrack, background music, advert jingle or ringtone to circumscribe our lives, because you and I have wildly divergent tastes in music, and we abide here in a spirit of compromise, which is why there are headphones in this flat. I love you in spite of Queens of the Stone Age, not because of them.”  
“Cheers, Mr. Johann Sebastian Snob.”  
“If you had your way, John, we’d be dancing to The Specials all night long.”  
John immediately bristled. “You have a problem with The Specials, mate? Because if you do…”  
“All right, all right, calm down, Rudy.”

John lowered the newspaper and looked at Sherlock over the top of the page. “So you’re really serious about not going unless I can find a song you like.”  
“John, if you can come up with something suitable that we both agree could possibly be ‘our song’, then I will consent to dress and behave appropriately and attend this odious wedding and dance with you. Now, I like romantic standards and anything I can waltz to. No cheesy pop songs, no film clichés, or anything that has the word ‘booty’ anywhere in it, and NO Bee Gees. That ought to give you plenty to work with.”

“Just what are you singing under your breath?” John asked later as they were undressing for bed. “Is that some sort of message for me?”  
Sherlock winked at him. “Just that one line reminds me of you.” He sang: “ ‘And that laugh that wrinkles your nose, touches my foolish heart…' ”  
“I don’t wrinkle my nose, Sherlock.”  
“Yeah you do.”

Sherlock could be heard singing in the shower, his rich smoky voice drifting out on clouds of steam: “ '…In the hush of night while you're in my arms, I feel your lips so warm and tender…' ”  
John rolled over and covered his head with a nice big sound-deadening pillow.

Being in a cab with Sherlock frequently meant being trapped with his theories and his obsessions, but now it was even worse because John was also trapped with Sherlock's wedding dance suggestions.  
“One look, and I forgot the gloom of the past…One look, and I had found my future at last…" Sherlock sang quietly to himself (but loudly enough to annoy John).  
“Sherlock, please. I’m trying to listen to my voicemail.”  
“Don’t be absurd, no one leaves you voicemail.”  
“I definitely have voicemail,“ John said triumphantly, and turned up the volume on his mobile so that Sherlock's recorded voice filled the cab with song: “It’s very clear, our love is here to stay…”  
“Dammit Sherlock.”

“What about Wonderwall?” John said from the kitchen while making the tea.  
“NO!”

“Truly Madly Deeply!” John shouted through the bathroom door.  
“NOT THAT ONE!”

“There’s this song by The Arctic Monkeys...” John called down the stairwell as Sherlock opened the front door.  
“ABSOLUTELY NOT!”  
The door slammed behind him.

When Sherlock came home that evening he found John in his chair, leaning his head on his hand and staring reflectively into the fireplace. “Still auditioning dance songs?” Sherlock asked, removing his coat and scarf.  
“A bit,” John replied absently. “I really would love to dance with you at that wedding, Sherlock. I’m just not sure I can find anything we both agree on.”  
Drifting from the speakers was a dreamy, jazzy composition with a romantic vocal backed by the warm underlying notes of a saxophone.  
“But I do keep coming back to this one,” John said. “It’s hopelessly old-school…”  
“Like me,” Sherlock said, as he affectionately ruffled John’s hair.  
“… and everyone will think we have granddad tastes, but…there’s just something about the lyrics.”  
“I wouldn’t object to dancing to this one,” Sherlock said. “Shall we try it?”

John rose from his chair, took Sherlock in his arms. There was a momentary wordless struggle over who was going to lead, but Sherlock finally let John have his way with him, and they assumed their positions before moving leisurely, gracefully around the sitting room. John was a confident partner, and led Sherlock in the dance in his self-assured way, while Sherlock followed him easily. His willowy body bent slightly over John’s and he rested his cheekbone against John’s hair.

John began humming, then softly singing along:  
“ ‘That certain night, the night we met…’ ”  
Sherlock smiled, knowing perfectly well why John had chosen this particular song. It told of a magical London night, two people in love, their excitement and confusion, the stars and the moon and first kisses. It was ideal for a dance at a wedding. Even someone else’s.

_I may be right, I may be wrong_  
_But I'm perfectly willing to swear_  
_That when you turned and smiled at me_  
_A nightingale sang in Berkeley Square._

John felt Sherlock's long body relax into his as they danced. How could he possibly forget that smile, on the evening of the day they met: the smile that turned Sherlock's angular face into a poignant combination of hesitation, happiness and hope. The firm clasp of his hand. His careless assumption that whatever he asked or demanded, John would consent and follow.  
How gratifyingly ironic that Sherlock now followed him as they moved together across the sitting room floor.

Sherlock felt the vibration of John’s voice echo through his breastbone. He closed his eyes, knowing that John would safely guide him around the furniture and over the edges of the rugs, would telegraph the next turn and glide with his body. There had never been so much certainty in his life, nor such trust in one who held him close.

_The moon that lingered over London town_  
_Poor puzzled moon he wore a frown_  
_How could he know we two were so in love_  
_The whole damned world seemed upside down._

How true that had been. John had felt his world turn upside down in the space of a very few hours. He’d been swept into the unknown by Sherlock Holmes - and whatever his world had been before, it suddenly became one where he was no longer alone, no longer friendless, no longer a ghost of a man.  
And maybe the moon over Baker Street didn't know they were in love, but the two of them knew – knew it from the moment they leaned laughing against the wall downstairs, ridiculously delighted at the direction their lives had suddenly taken, and at how funny and lovely and exciting it all promised to be.

John clasped Sherlock closer, and felt Sherlock’s answering pressure. Their dance became a long, swaying embrace.

_The streets of town were paved with stars_  
_It was such a romantic affair_  
_And as we kissed and said goodnight_  
_A nightingale sang in Berkeley Square._

Both our lives began all over again then, John thought, on a night when all of London was ours and everything was possible. He felt abruptly overcome with a hot rush of emotion that made him bury his face in Sherlock's neck.  
And although John couldn’t see it now, Sherlock’s smile was the very same one he'd worn that night: the smile which had begun unlocking John Watson’s frozen heart, and perhaps his own as well.

The music stopped. Sherlock and John stopped. And for an immeasurable moment in 221B Baker Street, time stopped too.

Then Sherlock said quietly, “John? Perhaps we should choose another song.”  
John surreptitiously dried his eyes on Sherlock's shirt collar. “Don’t you like it?”  
“I do like it, John. It’s perfect. But I think we might save this one for our own wedding dance.”

_How strange it was, how sweet and strange_  
_There was never a dream to compare_  
_To that hazy crazy night we met_  
_And a nightingale sang in Berkeley Square._

**Author's Note:**

> Songs that Sherlock sings for John: The Way You Look Tonight, My One And Only Love, Love Walked In, Our Love Is Here To Stay
> 
> The Specials – 1980s ska group (favorite of Martin Freeman). Queens of the Stone Age were also a favorite of Martin’s.
> 
> Rudy – “rude boy”, or urban gangster. Referenced in The Specials’ song “Message to Rudy”.
> 
> “A Nightingale Sang In Berkeley Square” – a romantic British popular song written in 1939 with lyrics by Eric Maschwitz and music by Manning Sherwin. All copyrights belong to them, and I intend no violation.  
> Berkeley is pronounced “Bark-ley”.


End file.
